Finding Me
by TruthSerum
Summary: He was looking for vengeance, but he found something better.
1. Prologue

Prologue

"What the hell are we doing here?" Nathan Thompson grumbled, pulling his black ops jacket on over a heavy Kevlar vest and sweating already just from the heat of all the clothes piled on top of him.

"Our job," Craig shot back. Nate and the other agents tasked on this mission had been complaining most of the way here, and he was really just sick of it. Admittedly, he was excited just to be going on a real field mission after three years with the Agency and only a handful of field operations under his belt. Unfortunately, this wasn't exactly his "big break" into the ranks; this mission had been offered to him because he was lower-level agent, and because they could spare him for a few days. If, God forbid, he didn't make it back, he wouldn't be too sorely missed by his colleagues. A few well-known and well-respected agents came along, but so far, everyone he'd met seemed half-crazy. Quite honestly, they would have to be to play along with this raid, designed out of a lust for blood and vengeance. Pity for the senior agent that drew up the mission, along with a little boredom, motivated him to join the team raiding the facility. He wasn't privy to many of the details of the case, but Agent Vaughn's precarious emotional state and increasingly erratic behaviour was the CIA's worst kept secret. Most people spoke caustically behind Vaughn's back, saying that he needed to be suspended from active duty until he came to terms with the loss of Agent Bristow, but Craig, for some reason, felt for the older man. He'd met Vaughn only a few times, but he'd heard the stories about SD-6, and he knew that Jack Bristow respected the man that handled his daughter's case. Vaughn wasn't just another loose cannon - he was a lost and mourning man, and he needed closure before he could move on with his life. If Craig could help, and get out of a little menial paperwork in the process, he saw no harm in indulging Agent Vaughn's desires.

"It's not our job to follow this whacko just because his girlfriend died," Nate shot back. "Not my problem."

"You're an ass, Nate," one of the other agents spoke up. "Besides, you didn't have to take this mission, so shut the hell up."

Craig smiled a little, inwardly pleased with the look on Nate's face. He should know better than to speak so flippantly about their fallen colleague. Nearly everyone shed a few tears the night Sydney Bristow's death was announced. Her murder reminded every agent of the fragility of human life; she was one of the best agents the CIA had ever seen, and she was killed in her own home, then burned to nothing more than ashes. Many of the agents he trained with idolised Sydney for her strength and prowess, and secretly, all the rookies hoped they one day became a legend just as she did. It was a punch in the gut, even for those who didn't know her personally. For those who did, her death was dehabilitating. So when the request arrived on his desk, asking him to provide backup on a mission to apprehend several people believed to be responsible for her death, he didn't hesitate to accept.

"Listen up!" Eric Weiss announced, stepping up to the small group of agents gathered around the van parked half a mile from the facility. Michael Vaughn stood a foot or two behind his friend, face pale and haggard, drawn from exhaustion and poor nutrition. Stubble darkened half of his face, and he looked like death slightly warmed over. The bereaved man probably shouldn't even be here, but no one was going to force him to do anything. Quite frankly, everyone had become a bit scared of the once straight-laced agent, startled by his nearly suicidal behaviour and incessant drive for revenge. Craig got the impression Kendall and the others were just letting his grief run its natural course. Eventually, the lack of sleep and food would catch up with him, and he wouldn't be able to do it anymore. Craig hated to be the one to see him fall, and he knew when the reality of losing Sydney finally washed over Vaughn, overwhelming the anger with an empty, aching loneliness, he would never see the older agent again. That was perhaps the greatest tragedy of Sydney Bristow's death; so many others quit living when they buried her.

Trying to shake the disturbing thoughts from his head, Craig turned his attention back to Weiss, who was detailing the specs once more. He'd read through it several times, so he didn't miss much when he zoned out for a few minutes.

"You keep all of these prisoners alive," Weiss instructed. "We want them all back in LA for questioning, and then they'll be punished accordingly. If you see anything, and I mean Ianything/I out of the ordinary, you call for Agent Vaughn or myself. Understood?"

The agents nodded, and Weiss ordered them all to disperse. Running through the darkened fields, Craig felt a rush of adrenaline. He always wanted to be a field agent, but he hadn't impressed his superiors. Maybe this mission could change it all. Weiss seemed at his wit's end trying to watch out for his friend and still carry out these insane operations, and if he performed well, he might just earn himself a recommendation out of sheer gratitude. As soon as the thought entered his mind, he scolded himself for being so selfish. Tonight wasn't about him; it was about making people pay for ruining innocent lives, about giving a man a reason to keep living long after the best part of him died, about showing these bastards that American agents didn't take well to having their friends murdered in their homes. He cocked his gun and reminded himself to focus, fixing his eyes on the dimly lit building just over the side of the hill.

The team split up when they entered the facility, and gunfire immediately erupted all around, joining with stomping footsteps to form a startling cacophany of fear and death. Craig closed his eyes for a split second, trying to stem the wave of terror that assaulted him when he watched a man fall. They were all wearing vests, so it almost Ihad/I to be one of the bad guys. Still, he'd only done this a few times, and he was guessing it took a lot more experience before he became desensitised to watching human lives end.

The chaos in the hallways ended abruptly when he opened his eyes, and he made out the form of Robbie, a fellow agent he'd been through training with, motioning him to follow. He held up his gun once more and ran after him, glancing over his shoulder to make sure another agent tailed them. At the very end of the hallway, one door stood partially cracked, but no light spilled out from inside. Robbie looked around cautiously and tapped the door with his foot to swing it open a few more inches. He peeked inside and then turned around, indicating to the other two that it was safe to enter. They crept in with guns raised, and Rob let out an alarmed gasp.

"Holy shit."

His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and Craig stared in shock at the sight before him, wincing at the awful smell seeping off the walls and the floor of the small cell. The concrete slabs were cold and damp, emanating a heavy odor of must and vomit and spoiled food. In CST, his instructors warned him about torture, about the sick and twisted things men did to agents that let their guard down and wound up prisoners, but part of him always believed their stories were not meant to be taken literally. If anyone believed that those things really happened, it was only a stastical anomaly, and surely, none of them would ever confront such a horrible scene. But standing in this room, gazing in horror at the form before him, he realised his instructors weren't exaggerating. At all.

Sympathy filled his veins as he bent his head and let out a slow stream of air, every pore suddenly filled with sorrow and despair as he looked on the poor figure huddled in the corner of the room. Instinct told him this one was a lost cause; surely the torture in this room killed the poor bastard and put him out of his misery.

"Jesus, he's alive!" Rob cried in alarm.

"What?" Craig hissed. "No way in hell!" He squinted his eyes and looked a little closer. Sure enough, the figure was shaking slightly. The three agents stood transfixed, unmoving, as a harsh cough rattled off the walls. No one made a move towards the prisoner, obviously terrified to confront the grim reality of this tragic scene. But as the sound of laboured breathing filled the room, Craig couldn't stand to do nothing. He dropped his gun and ran across the room, ignoring the filth he trampled through along the way. He knelt down next to the prisoner and received his second shock of the day. "Shit," he cursed lowly, reaching out gingerly to move a piece of stringy hair obscuring his view of the face. He kept his voice quiet, trying not to frighten the person before him as he called out to his colleague. "Robbie, go get Vaughn," he instructed.

"What?" the other agent asked in disbelief. "You've gotta be kidding me. Why the hell would he care about this poor son of a bitch?"

The figure whimpered at the loud voice, and Craig tossed Robbie an irritated glare. "Because this son of a bitch is a woman!" he whispered heatedly. "Just go, Robbie! Hurry up!" The two men dashed out of the room, leaving Craig alone with the woman. Craig crawled a little closer to the woman and hestitantly reached out a hand to brush the long hair out of her face so he could better examine her. She began trembling in fear, shaking with sobs as she quietly protested the touch. "Shh, I'm not going to hurt you," he soothed. "My name is Craig Bowman. I'm an agent with the CIA. We're here to help you," he said slowly, keeping his words simple and short for her benefit.

She didn't seem to understand him, still shaking violently with fear as she tried uselessly to crawl away from him. She looked like a breathing skeleton, her dark eyes hollow and sunken in her pale face, her skin stretched thinly over sharp, angular bones. Even in the dark he saw evidence of beatings, and he shuddered at the thought of someone actually doing this to a woman. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out a small penlight and flicked it on, illuminating their tiny corner of the room and casting a yellow glow over her already pallid face.

"Oh God," he breathed shakily. For a moment, he believed his eyes were deceiving him, or maybe he was still asleep. There was no way in hell she could be alive, and he didn't even want to consider the possibility of her being here, beaten and abused while everyone she ever loved wallowed in despair and depression over her death. He prayed silently for Vaughn to arrive; he didn't want this responsibility anymore. Not knowing what to do to alleviate any of her pain, he tried to gently coax her out of the corner. Her awkward position was probably straining her already difficult breathing, and if he could get her to lay down and keep her head just a little elevated, she might be a little more comfortable. She shied from his touch at first, but he kept his contact light and brief, and she started to relax just enough for him to work with her. He moved her gently away from the wall and eased her down, cradling her head in his lap. He thought briefly of his girlfriend back home, and he suddenly wished he could call her, just to make sure she was okay. When he returned to LA, maybe he should think about telling her what she meant to him. The mere thought of her being the person trembling in the dark nearly made him sick, and it was a sobering revelation.

The woman whimpered again, probably in pain, and tried to shift her head. "No, don't move," he whispered, easily restraining her with only a minimal amount of force. "Shh, you're okay. No one's going to hurt you now. We're gonna get you out of here."

"Vaughn?" she mumbled, her voice barely even a whisper, though it might as well have been a shout. Only one person could know that name, and she had supposedly died four months ago.

"No, I'm Craig," he managed to answer, fighting for his own voice as he held her a little tighter. "But Vaughn is here. He's on his way. He'll be here any minute. Just hang on, okay?" He was suddenly desperate, terrified that she might be beyond saving. The only thing worse than losing her in a fire was losing her in a fire and then watching her die again, and he knew that would kill Vaughn, as well as Jack and Dixon and Eric and Marshall.

"What the hell is this about?" Vaughn fumed as he stormed through the room, apparently oblivious to the mess all around him. "I don't have time for this, Bowman. You better hope this prisoner has some-" He stopped short when he gazed down at the shivering body, recognising those hands and those eyes despite the torture that tried to mask and disguise her. A myriad of emotions played out across his face, beginning with shock, transitioning to grief, and finally finishing with desperation. "Oh...oh my God," he breathed, immediately dropping down next to her and forcing the younger agent out of his way. He quickly moved her head into his own lap and wiped at her face, assuring himself over and over that he wasn't seeing things. Craig suddenly felt like a voyeur on an incredibly private moment, and he rose without another word.


	2. Finding Me

Failure.

That was the first thought in Michael Vaughn's head when a stricken Jack Bristow delivered the shocking news: Sydney's house was on fire. He should have gone in with her. What was he thinking? Didn't he know better than to let someone he loved walk away from him? Didn't he know better than to make plans? God dammit, he should have screwed the debrief and gone inside with her to help her pack.

Disbelief.

The second feeling coursing through his body when Eric Weiss touched his shoulder, gently pushing him down into a chair even as tears dripped from his own eyes. There was no way Sydney had died in that fire. Sydney was the smartest, most capable person he'd ever met. Sydney would not, Icould not/I die in a fire. She wouldn't leave him. He didn't get the chance to tell her he loved her, to tell her that though they'd only been together a few months, he'd loved her for over two years and wanted to spend the rest of his years with her at his side. He didn't get the chance to kiss her senseless and slide a ring onto her finger, didn't get the chance to hold her one more time and promise that he would never, ever stop loving her. They waited so long to be together; no one was cruel enough to take her away from him _now_. She'd survived a hundred brushes with death before his lips even tasted hers, so surely she survived now that she had him.

Complete and utter despair.

Grief didn't touch it. Depression didn't begin to describe it. Those words were too simple, too ordinary. Grief was saying goodbye to a parent or grandparent that died of old age, a loved one who grappled with a terminal disease and finally surrendered to death. Depression was a suburban epidemic, a feeling of hopelessness created by too much work and not enough fun, too much loneliness and not enough laughter. Grief wasn't losing the person you loved most in the world, the person that completed you, the person that gave your life meaning in the blink of an eye. Depression wasn't facing a lifetime without her. No, this was something entirely different, deeper, darker, and without any hope of relief. The feeling swallowed him whole, ripped away everything that made him who he was, battered his soul until death seemed like the best option.

Rage.

The promise he made when he spread her ashes at sea. He couldn't bring her back, but he couldn't live without her. For several days, he sat in his house drinking, thinking of her, looking at pictures of her, and fingering the trigger of his personal handgun. But her voice haunted him. The pictures screamed at him. She deserved so much more, and the least he could do was live long enough to make every single person responsible for her death pay just the tiniest fraction of the price. Then he could die and be with her. Then he could take his life and feel no guilt for things left unsaid or undone. Yes, there were people here that still loved him, but they weren't enough to replace her loss, and they would understand that he had no choice. But first, his rage. She deserved vengeance.

Relief. Horror. Joy. Fear. Hope. Pain.

None of those words even began to touch the feelings that slammed him to the ground when he saw the one face he never expected to see again. He tried so hard to forget her beautiful face, her gorgeous features, her full, kissable lips. Remembering just hurt too much. But every detail returned with vivid clarity even as he looked on another person. She wasn't the Sydney he remembered, but she was still _Sydney._

"Syd," he breathed reverently. His voice trembled as his hands fluttered over her body, the cuts and the bruises, the icy cold patches of skin. A few tears rolled down her dirt-streaked cheeks as she felt a tender and loving touch for the first time in nearly four months. "Get me a medic," he rasped to the young agent still in the doorway. "God dammit get me a medic!" he demanded when Craig failed to move. The agent scampered off in obedience, and Vaughn gently pulled her all the way into his lap.

"Vaughn?" she asked incredulously, her exhausted voice weak and raspy.

He grabbed a water bottle from his pack and quickly uncapped it, pressing it to her dry, cracked lips in an effort to make her drink. "Take a sip," he urged quietly, tapping her lower lip with the rim of the plastic bottle. "Come on, Baby. Come on, just a sip." It took her a minute, but she finally yielded to his command, allowing her mouth to open and the cool water to drip in as he carefully doled out measured sips to soothe her throat. He stopped as soon as her eyes began to roll back in her head, abandoning the water bottle in favour of catching her before she passed out again. "Syd?" he cried, slapping her cheeks with the back of his hand to try to rouse her again. "Syd! Come on, Baby. Wake up for me, Syd," he urged, rocking her gently even as he cradled her so tightly he almost feared he would squeeze the air out of her.

He waited helplessly for the medic, praying they weren't too late to save her. God...four months, and she was here all along. She never died, never left him alone in the world. He left her. He gave up. He nearly killed himself, and for what? She wouldn't have been waiting for him - not yet, at least. All that time he wasted Sydney spent in this hell-hole, probably wondering when her guardian angel was going to find her and take her home.

But rookie agent Craig Bowman found her instead.

"I'm so sorry, Sydney," he cried, fat tears rolling down his cheeks as he continued to hold her limp form close. "So sorry," he breathed. He felt her chest struggling for air, rising and falling in short little gasps through her thin, ragged sweater, and he felt the bile churning in his throat. His hands moved to her sides in morbid curiosity, not really wanting to slide beneath the ratty material of her shirt to examine the damage beneath, but unable to stop their macabre path. He closed his eyes and choked on a sob as he clearly felt her ribs with his fingertips. "Please, don't leave me," he begged her. His fingers brushed a rough patch of skin he immediately recognised as a scar, but his mind just couldn't take anymore. He couldn't even comprehend how horribly she suffered all this time, and he didn't want to. He just wanted her to be okay, to open her eyes and talk to him, to understand him when he told her he loved her again and again. Tugging the dirty brown material back over her stomach, he smoothed down the material and raised his thumb to brush her face. "Sydney," he tried again, desperate to rouse her. "Syd, it's me, I'm here. Wake up. Talk to me."

Somehow his voice reached through the heavy veil of unconsciousness, and she began blinking her eyes. Even the minimal amount of light bothered her eyes, and she turned her head to the side, trying to protect herself. Vaughn used one hand to cup her chin and turn her face flush to his and the other to shield her eyes. She struggled with lucidity for a moment and finally showed some recognition on her haggard face. "What...?" she tried to ask, coughing harshly as her throat protested the uncomfortable sensation.

"It's me, Syd," he soothed, smoothing down her hair and managing a small smile despite the fear seizing his chest at the sight of her so sick and destroyed. "You're safe now. There's a medic on his way right now, and we're going to get you out of here, okay?" he asked, praying she understood.

"Y-yeah," she stammered. "How...how did you...?" Her voice trailed off again as another series of coughs cut her words short.

If possible, the worry lines on his forehead deepened as she struggled to regain control of the spasms. "Shh," he ordered. "Just relax. We'll have plenty of time to talk later. You're going to be alright now. I'm going to take you home."

She nodded and swallowed, her eyes fighting to stay open again. She sighed heavily in exhaustion, turning her head in his lap as she began going limp once more. This time he let her, slightly reassured that she would be okay as long as they got her out of here as soon as possible. The minutes dragged on and on, his anxiety making each second feel like hours. Even in her sleep, her body began to tremble from the cold, and he immediately berated himself for his carelessness, ripping off his black ops jacket and covering her slight form. The shivering subsided just a little, and her expression morphed to one of peaceful oblivion.

"Agent Vaughn?" a voice asked from behind.

Vaughn whipped around in fear, terrified that someone had found them and would take her away again. He relaxed as he recognised the uniform of a CIA medic, though the man's name eluded him at the moment. "She needs help," he said quietly.

"Christ, it is her," the medic breathed in disbelief.

Vaughn bristled at the words, unnerved by the recognition of this man that had never even met Sydney before. Their relationship used to be so special, so sacred, and even though it was the CIA's worst kept secret, only a select few were privy to the details. After her death he fell apart, and soon everyone knew just how in love he'd been. The tragedy of losing an agent in her prime in such a horrible and unexpected way rocked everyone in the agency, whether they knew her or not, and though she would probably appreciate the kinds words and the many accolades spoken in her absence, he wished it could go back to the way it was before, when only those close to Sydney knew about her, about what an amazing person she was, and when his love for her was still sweet and intimate. Now it was tainted by the madness he endured on her behalf, twisted into something disturbing and dangerous in his grief.

She would be disappointed when she learned of everything he did. They both swore to uphold their values no matter what happened as a result of their jobs, but he threw that promise out the window when she died. He compromised everything he believed in - everything _she_ believed in - to try to avenge her death, to give him closure, to give him the sense of penance he needed to move on with his life. But then again, his insanity was the reason this mission occurred in the first place. Jack and Weiss helped him circumvent the system and carry out these ridiculous operations, and here she was, hurt and damaged beyond his realm of understanding, but _safe_ and _alive_. After months of seeking revenge, he discovered something much, much better.

Reluctant to move even a few inches from her side, he stayed right where he was, shifting only when necessary to allow the medic to perform a cursory evaluation. Vaughn summoned all of his personal restraint and swallowed hard as he watched another man's hands prodding and poking her body, but as he tried to avert his eyes from the sight, his mind inevitably created images of sadistic, evil men hurting her, touching her, violating her.

"I think we're okay to move her," the medic finally announced. He began to slide his hands underneath her knees, but Vaughn forced him away, easily scooping her into his arms by himself.

"She doesn't weigh anything," he spat out. "I've got her."

The man nodded in understanding and threw his supplies back in his bag. Vaughn supported her neck and kept her head close to his chest, his other arm looped beneath her knees. His stomach churned with the realisation of just how much weight she'd lost in the last four months, threatening to make him throw up right here. Forcing himself to block it out, he focused on keeping her steady and jarring her as little as possible as he carried her down the darkened corridors.

By the time they reached the front of the building Vaughn was panting in exertion, and the medic shot him a questioning look. He knew the adrenaline pumping furiously through his veins would keep him upright all the way to the vans, but time was not on his side. "Get the van," he ordered. "We need to hurry."

He watched the man go and waved for the last of the remaining agents to stand guard as he knelt to the ground. He kept her in his arms to protect her from the cold, rocking her gently to reassure himself of her presence. The reality suddenly washed over him, nearly crushing him with the euphoria that began to ciphon through his veins. Despite what happened to her, despite the injuries, despite the long fight he knew he would endure nursing her back to health, the woman he loved more than anything, the woman he lost, the woman who completed him wasn't dead at all. All the pain sealed inside since the night he sat in the burned out ruins of her apartment, smelling the ash and the smoke and the despair, could be replaced now with new memories of holding her and kissing her. All the good times he tried so hard to forget could once more become precious images to relive and recount. The last four months could become one long nightmare now, and from now on, he would fall asleep with his arm around her waist, reminding himself that she would be there when he woke up. Before that night he worried about taking his time, about doing everything slow and right so she would never feel pressured. He'd been afraid of pushing her too hard too fast, so he never told her just how much she meant to him or how much she gave him. But not anymore. The moment she woke up and looked at him with understanding and comprehension in her eyes he would tell her everything, beginning with the first day he met her and knew she was going to change his life. He would tell her how lost he felt, how utterly alone he was even in the midst of his family and friends once she was gone, and how every day he just wanted to die so he wouldn't have to feel that pain anymore. And maybe that would be enough to make her better. Maybe knowing that she was the only one that could bring him back to life would be enough to help her mend.

The soft purr of the engine rolled up beside him, and Vaughn glanced up, drawn out of his thoughts. One of the other agents jumped out and offered his seat, helping Vaughn climb in without unsettling Sydney too much. He scooted across the bench seat and laid her out flat, her head resting on his lap once more.

"Agent Vaughn, where would you like to take her?" the medic (Jeff, Vaughn now remembered) asked.

"Oh, um...I guess I should call in," he stammered. He'd nearly forgotten about Jack, and everyone else at the JTF for that matter. They were going to think he really lost it this time, and probably with good reason. Until they saw her with their own eyes, none of them would believe that he really found her alive. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he let his fingers linger over the keys for a moment, contemplating whether he should call Kendall or her father. He quickly decided Jack should be the first to know, and right now, he probably trusted Jack Bristow more than anyone else. He certainly never thought that would be the case, but only someone that loved Sydney would be able to understand, and only someone with as many contacts as Jack Bristow could figure out a safe place for them to stay until she was well enough to travel again. Scrolling through the names in his phone book, he found Jack's name and took a deep breath.

"Bristow," a gruff voice answered.

"Jack, it's me." After a long silence he added, "Vaughn."

"Yes, thank you. Is there a reason you're calling me?" he asked bluntly, obviously having little patience for what would probably prove to be another drunken phone call.

"Jack, I need you to listen to me and just believe me when I tell you I'm completely sober."

"That's not a good way to preface this conversation, Agent Vaughn," Jack remarked.

"She's alive," Vaughn interjected.

There was another long silence, followed by a weary sigh. Vaughn could practically picture Jack shaking his head sadly and sitting down with a glass of hard liquor. "Vaughn," he began, his voice infinitely softer now, filled with the melancholy tone Vaughn had become accustomed to since Sydney died. "Vaughn, Sydney is dead," he stated plainly. "Her apartment was burned to the ground while she was still inside. The DNA matched, and you spread her ashes at sea almost four months ago."

"I know all that, Jack," he reasoned. "But it was a set-up. Contact Weiss and he'll tell you. Other people have seen her. Craig Bowman found her, and she's here with me right now. Jeff's here, too, and I'll put him on the phone if you want. She's alive."

"This doesn't make sense," Jack argued. "She died four months ago."

"Someone wanted us to believe that."

"Can...Can I talk to her?" Jack asked, his voice choked with unwonted emotion.

"She's not conscious right now," he answered. "She's been in and out a little...it's pretty bad, Jack," he said seriously. "I need to get her somewhere safe, somewhere they won't find us."

After a few minutes of thought and discussion, Jack gave him the address to an unregistered safe house near Bari, just a few hours away by car. He arranged for one of his contacts, a doctor, to meet Vaughn, Sydney, and Jeff halfway and abandon the van, then travel the rest of the way to the safe house where Jeff and the doctor could attend to Sydney's needs. If necessary they could transport her to a hospital nearby, but only in the worst case scenario. The people that took Sydney knew what kind of condition she was in, and hospitals would be the first place they looked for her. The longer they could stay under the radar the better their chances of keeping her location unknown. With strict instructions to call as soon as Sydney woke up and the minute they met Jack's contact, Vaughn hung up the phone, feeling slightly better about the situation. If anyone could hide a person, it was Jack Bristow.

"My medical bag is under the seat," Jeff told him. "She needs water as soon as she's conscious, but for now you can start by cleaning up and dressing her wounds," he suggested.

Vaughn nodded and grabbed the black bag, rifling through it for the necessary supplies. He needed to get her out of these dirty clothes and into something warm and comfortable, but that would have to wait until they reached the safe house. As he tended to the cuts and scrapes he smiled to himself, thinking that she would need a brand new wardrobe since she lost everything in the fire. "You'll have to go shopping when you're all better," he whispered, quietly enough that Jeff couldn't hear. "I'll even go with you if you want. I'll buy you anything." Fingering the hem of her sweater, he lifted it just slightly, glancing up to make sure Jeff kept his eyes straight ahead on the road. Despite the fact that her last shred of modesty had been cruelly stolen, he wasn't about to let any more men lay eyes on his girlfriend, and considering the violation he knew she was subjected to, he felt guilty himself for touching her while she was still unconscious. He tried not to think about it and cleaned the area around a huge gash running along the lower portion of her stomach. It looked mostly healed now, but the scarring and the red skin surrounding the cut suggested infection and poor, if any, treatment. He finished wiping the wound clean and covered it with gauze, securing the bandage with white medical tape. Pulling her sweater up a little higher he discovered several nasty burns, probably from electroshock. He closed his eyes and let out a slow stream of air, trying to purge his mind of the images already forming. She was here and she was safe, so he just couldn't let himself imagine her suffering through that right now. Later he would listen to everything they did to her, he would document it, file it away in his mind, and store up every piece of information so he could avenge each and every wound. But for now, all that mattered was patching her up to the best of his limited abilities. "I am Iso/I sorry, Baby," he breathed, smoothing antiseptic cream over the painful looking circular burns. She didn't wince as his fingers prodded the raw skin, and it worried him that she didn't react at all to the stimulus.

He found a few more cuts and scrapes needing attention along her arms, but once he finished those, he had done all he could do until they reached the safe house. She didn't show any signs of waking, so he located a blanket stored beneath the seat and wrapped her up securely, doing his best to make her as comfortable as possible. He should probably get some sleep while there was nothing else to do, but as soon as he closed his eyes he opened them again, scared she might disappear if he allowed himself to fall asleep. Arms tight around her, he held her close and watched her still figure until they met Jack's contact.

"Doctor Harris," the man introduced himself. Vaughn extended one hand, not rising from the seat just yet.

"Do you want to take a quick look before we try to move her?"

Doctor Harris nodded and looked first at her face to confirm whether or not this was really Jack Bristow's daughter. "My God," he breathed. "She really is alive."

"Yeah, she is," Vaughn responded quietly.

After a quick inspection, Dr. Harris declared her fit for transport and helped Vaughn lift her gently out of the van. A little over an hour later Jeff pulled up to the safe house. The three of them quickly moved Sydney inside, laying her down in the first bedroom they found. She hadn't stirred at all throughout the ride, and Vaughn was getting more and more worried by her lack of response. In the light, he could see the ashen pallor of her skin and the tiny beads of sweat dotting her hairline despite the cool temperature of the room.

"Agent Vaughn," Dr. Harris addressed him. "This is probably going to take a while. Why don't you go make some coffee and get her some water?"

Vaughn knew the doctor was just trying to get rid of him so he could do his job, but he nodded mutely, unable to tear his eyes from the figure in the bed. She started to moan a little as Dr. Harris checked her vital signs, pushing uncomfortably at the blanket they covered her with. "Is she waking up?" he asked quietly.

"No," the older man shook his head. "I'm guessing she'll be out for quite a while," he said, looking at him pointedly.

"Will you tell me if anything changes? If she shows any signs of waking up..."

"You'll be the first to know," the doctor assured him.

With a tired sigh, Vaughn left the room and immediately located the kitchen. It wasn't stocked with much, but he did manage to find some coffee and a few bottles of water. He set up the coffee pot to brew and found the living room, sinking silently into the couch with a bottle of water for himself - he wouldn't be needing caffeine to keep him awake tonight. Jeff had already staked out his own room and turned off the lights, presumably asleep after a long, gruelling night. Everyone on the team got a lot more than they bargained for tonight.

Staring at a fixed point on the wall, Vaughn took a few sips of his water and thought about her, forcing himself to relive every single moment, good or bad, that they spent together. The memories always returned unbidden to taunt him and torture him, but he'd been pushing them away, burying them beneath layers of anger and hurt and hatred to try to stop the misery. Now he was just afraid he'd forgotten something, that he might not remember some little thing she said or did. He needed to recall every laugh, every smile, every kiss so he would never, ever forget how horrible it felt to lose her. He let her go that night, watched her walk into the lion's den unaccompanied, and for that mistake he nearly lost her forever. He wouldn't let that happen twice. This time he would take nothing for granted. It might be assuming a lot to envision his future with her, but he couldn't even imagine life without her in it now that he found her again. And this time around he would be more patient when she was stubborn and frustrating, more open about his feelings and affection, less irritable when he had a bad day, less focused on everything else and more devoted to her. Too many times he allowed circumstances to intervene with their plans, and now he knew that delaying even a minute with her could have disastrous effects. This time around he would take photographs everywhere they went. They usually spent most nights at her place, and she snapped a few pictures to keep in her bedroom, but the first night he returned to his own apartment after her death, he realised she was nowhere in his home. Some of his clothes were missing from his drawers and from his closet, and the overly tidy appearance of his room clearly indicated that he spent most of his time somewhere else, but the only item that was really _Sydney_ was a single book she bought him. Her familiar handwriting filled the inside cover of the impossibly heavy hardback copy of IAnna Karenina/I a gift she bought him as a joke to show him what Tolstoy-long _really_ looked like. He'd never read it, but he promised her he would. _Maybe I should get started on that,_ he thought to himself. There would be many more books to buy when they returned to Los Angeles considering the mammoth collection she kept in her bedroom, now completely demolished. He grinned at the thought of following her in to Barnes and Noble, where she would inevitably spend the entire day roaming up and down each aisle. Just the thought of her smiling again would be worth the extreme boredom he endured as he watched her absorbing each title and debating which belonged in her new collection. They would probably need a new bookcase to house her beloved classics, and this time he would be the one taking pictures and sticking them in frames to line the shelves of his apartment.

Before she died he wanted to ask her to move in with him. For now he was content to be near her without touching her, to watch over her with scaring her, but maybe when they went home she would agree to stay with him. Maybe they could even start looking for a new place, a bigger place with more room for her new wardrobe and new books and all the photographs he intended to take. Before he knew it he'd planned in his mind a new house with bedrooms to spare and a big backyard to enjoy on the weekends. He could picture a few kids running around with chestnut hair and green eyes, but he would be happy even if it was just the two of them.

Before his fantasies could continue further, Doctor Harris emerged from the bedroom and offered Vaughn a reassuring smile. He sat down in the chair across from him and pushed his glasses up on his nose. "You're welcome to go sit with her whenever you'd like," he said kindly.

"How is she?" Vaughn asked anxiously. "Is she awake?"

"No, and I doubt she will be for a while," Doctor Harris shook his head seriously. "I don't see any reason why she shouldn't make a full recovery, but it's going to take time," he advised. "My biggest concern for right now is the pneumonia she's developed. She's running a low-grade fever right now, and coupled with her other injuries, she's very weak. She'll be sleeping a lot while her body tries to mend."

Vaughn swallowed and nodded in understanding. "What else?" he asked.

Doctor Harris sighed again and leaned back into the chair. "She's malnourished and dehydrated, as I'm sure you've guessed. I started an IV to begin replacing fluids, but unfortunately I don't have the supplies I need to start a feeding tube. That of course means that we'll have to wait for her to wake up, and I'll warn you now she's not going to be hungry. I've treated a few other patients in similar states, and it's extremely important to have close medical supervision while you're trying to put some weight back on her."

Vaughn nodded in understanding, soaking up the doctor's words. "Is there anything else?" he asked, praying to God that was the end of it.

Doctor Harris quickly ran through the cuts and burns and what Vaughn would need to do to take care of them, and then released him to slip into Sydney's room. It might be his imagination playing tricks on him, but she seemed to look a little better than she did a few hours ago. He hated seeing the IV attached to her hand, but the pain relief and fluids she was receiving were far more important than his own comfort around her. Her breathing was still strained without the aide of supplemental oxygen, but at least she looked a little more comfortable now. A rickety chair sat in the corner of the room, so he pulled it over next to the bed and took a seat, sliipping his hand beneath the heavy blankets to find her hand. "Hey Beautiful," he whispered. She couldn't even hear his words, but he still didn't want to disturb her seemingly peaceful sleep. "I can't believe you're here with me," he continued, moving his thumb in slow circles across the back of her hand. "I missed you so much, Syd. Life has been hell without you. But I'm going to get you better so we can go home. Everything's going to be okay now, I promise."

He continued to talk for a while, knowing she couldn't hear him but hoping that his voice comforted her. He used to stay awake sometimes to watch her sleeping, and he always loved the expression on her face. Despite everything she'd been through, that expression still graced her features. No one else could possibly consider her gorgeous right now, her beauty hidden beneath cuts and bruises and the after-effects of months in seclusion, but she had been dead for four months. No one in the world could look as amazing as she did to him at this moment.

After an hour or so of talking to her, Vaughn finally felt safe enough to doze off a little. He kept her hand wrapped in his and leaned his head back against the wall, his eyes fluttering closed as she continued to sleep. Doctor Harris woke him just as the sunlight began to peek through the small windows in the bedroom, gently prying his hand away from Sydney's so he could check her temperature and vitals. "Sleep well?" he asked kindly.

"Yeah," Vaughn answered, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "Is she okay?"

"I'm not sure. I want to check her over again, so..."

"Yeah, I got it," he nodded, rising from the chair and slipping silently outside of the room. Jeff was already up, drinking coffee at the kitchen table, so Vaughn poured himself a cup and sat down. "I think I owe you my thanks," he said sincerely.

Jeff looked up in surprise and smiled a little. "No problem," he said simply. "I've never even met Agent Bristow, but it's amazing that she's alive. I'm really happy for you."

"Thank you," Vaughn managed, swallowing past a lump of emotion in his throat.

"VAUGHN!"

Vaughn jumped up from the chair, immediately bolting into the bedroom where Doctor Harris was examining Sydney. The man looked up at him with sympathy as she writhed on the bed, eyes still closed.

"She's delirious," he explained unnecessarily. "Her fever's gone up."

"God," Vaughn sighed, sinking heavily into the chair next to her bed. "How bad?"

"104," Dr. Harris answered worriedly, moving his stethoscope to her chest to listen to her lungs and heart rate. "She needs oxygen," he stated plainly, shaking his head at the helplessness of the situation.

"Well we have to take her to a hospital!" Vaughn cried. "We can't just let her lay here and suffer!"

"Get some tepid water and some washcloths," the doctor instructed. "If you can get her fever down a little she might wake up. We need to get her sitting up a little and see if she can take some tylenol."

"This is crazy," Vaughn sighed. "She needs more than this."

"If she gets worse we'll take her somewhere, Agent Vaughn," he assured him. "It's serious, but she's okay for right now. I'll leave you two alone. Let me know if you need anything else."

Vaughn said nothing more and sat down on the bed next to Sydney. He pulled down the blankets, cringing slightly as she shivered. "I'm sorry," he apologised quietly, tossing the heavy quilt and blankets off the bed. He tugged the thin sheet over her to make her a little more comfortable without packing on the heat, but she still shivered from the chills racking her body. Placing a chaste kiss on her forehead, he left only long enough to fill a bowl with cool water and grab a few cloths from the bathroom. Returning to his post beside her, he dabbed her face with a cloth, making sure it was neither too cold nor too warm for her. Despite her shivers, her clothes were soaked through, and he realised he'd never changed her into something clean and comfortable. Luckily there were a few spare items in the drawers, and he located a t-shirt and thin sweatpants. "I'm gonna get you out of those clothes, Syd," he informed her needlessly. "I'm sorry to do this, but it'll make you feel better," he reasoned. Slowly and gently, he tugged the sweater over her head, replacing it with the t-shirt. Throwing the sheet to the side, he took a deep breath and unbuttoned her ripped jeans. He gulped as he exposed her bare legs, dismayed to see more bruising and more evidence of her weight loss. Desperate to preserve her modesty and his own sanity, he quickly covered her again with the sweatpants. "Better?" he asked, pulling the sheet up to her chest. He picked up the cloth and continued his attempts to cool her scorching skin.

Sydney's nose and brow crinkled as he rubbed the washcloth over her forehead, and she raised her hand to push his arm away. Encouraged by the movement, he continued his ministrations until she moaned and tossed her head in discomfort. Returning the cloth to the bowl, he gently swept her hair to the side. "Syd?" he prodded. "Sydney, can you open your eyes for me? It's me, Syd. It's Michael."

"Vaughn?" she groaned.

He chuckled a little at her persistent use of his last name and found her hand again. "Yeah, it's me," he said softly, giving her fingers a tight squeeze. "Wake up for me, Syd," he commanded gently. "Just for a few minutes so we can get you some tylenol."

"Vaughn?" she murmured again, this time sounding slightly anxious. Before he could even react she bolted upright, her eyes shooting open wide with panic and hysteria. "Vaughn!" she screamed, tears pouring out of her eyes as the floodgate crumbled. "No! Vaughn!" she cried, grappling with the thin sheet wrapped around her and trying to free herself. He didn't want to hurt her, but she was frantically scrambling out of the bed, completely delirious and unaware of her surroundings.

"Shh," he tried to hush her, gripping her shoulders as gently as he could while still restraining her. "Shh. It's okay. You're okay," he murmured.

"Please don't," she sobbed. "Don't," she repeated.

"Sydney, it's Michael," he attempted again. "You're safe. No one here is going to hurt you. It's just the fever, Syd."

She began to fight him again, punching his chest with her fists and surprising him with the strength she managed to muster. He sucked in a breath as she hit him again, but he fought his natural instinct to move away from her hands. "Leave me alone!" she demanded. "Don't touch me!"

"Shh," he tried to soothe, smoothing down her hair and rubbing her arms to reinforce that she was safe. She only managed to fight him for another minute or two and then finally gave up, dropping her hands and her head as she continued to sob. "Sydney," he said calmly. "Syd, listen to me," he demanded. "You're safe. I'm here, and no one is going to hurt you. I know you're scared - you have a fever. It's not real, Syd. Whatever you're seeing, it's not real."

He didn't know if his words did any good, but she curled up in the bed again, wrapping her arms around herself as she cried her way into unconsciousness. He actually sighed in relief when she went still, not sure he could physically or emotionally handle watching her scream and cry, oblivious to her surroundings, so sick she couldn't distinguish imagination from reality.

Doctor Harris poked his head back in, looking worriedly at his patient. "Was she lucid?" he asked quietly.

Vaughn just shook his head, unable to speak the word. He closed his eyes and listened to her breathing, even more ragged now than before. Doctor Harris stood in the doorway for a few minutes before leaving them alone again, helpless to do anything else at the moment.

"Don't do this to me, Syd," Vaughn pleaded with her still form. "I need you to be okay." Her brow creased as though she heard him, but he only possessed a shred of optimism now. He sighed and wet the washcloth again, returning to his earlier ministrations and trying desperately to cool her skin. She finally stopped shivering, so at least she wasn't exacerbating the fever anymore. When the water grew warm he wet it again, repeating his actions over and over.

After almost an hour of dabbing her skin with the tepid water, her face seemed to relax a little, absolved of the tension previously keeping her expression taut. He set the cloth and water aside, grabbing the thermometer to check her temperature again. It had gone down slightly, but not enough to abate any of his worry. Desperate for something to do and knowing he wouldn't be able to sleep until she was out of imminent danger, he found her hand beneath the sheet and held it tightly in his own. "Hey Syd," he whispered quietly. "I've missed talking to you. I missed laying next to you at night. Now that you're back I won't ever take that for granted again, but I need you to be okay for me. I need you to be okay so we can go back to LA and see everyone - they missed you so much, Syd. You have no idea how much everyone loves you...especially me. So I need you to get better now," he begged.

Sydney tossed her head and murmured something that sounded like his name, so he immediately stopped talking and moved closer. "Syd?" he asked.

She moaned again, turning towards the sound of his voice and trying to say his name again. He felt her move her fingers, deliberately grasping his and giving them a squeeze as she fought to fully wake up.

"That's great, Syd," he encouraged her. "Open your eyes for me. Come on. You can do this."

"Vaughn?" she asked, her voice loud and clear this time, full of the awareness and recognition he'd been craving since they found her.

"Yeah," he answered enthusiastically. "It's me, Sydney. I'm right next to you. Open your eyes."

Finally, she forced her lids open, blinking heavily against the dim lighting of the room. It took her a minute to focus, but she finally found Vaughn's smiling face. A few tears of happiness fell down his cheeks, and she weakly reached up to brush them away. He laughed joyfully, more tears escaping, and covered her hand with his to help her hold it in place. "How...?" she asked, straining to find enough breath to speak. Not surprisingly, she didn't remember talking to him briefly the night before, confused once more to find herself out of the filthy cell and in a warm bed.

"We found you," he explained quietly, lowering their joined hands to his lap. "We're in Bari at a safe house your dad told me about."

"Dad?" she asked, hope lighting her eyes.

"He's not here. He's still at home. But I talked to him, and he knows we're here. He can't wait to see you, Syd. He would be here right now if he could," he assured her.

She nodded, closing her eyes as a series of painful coughs shook her body. She dropped her head to the pillow when she finished, exhausted from the effort and struggling to fill her lungs with air. Vaughn let go of her hand and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her up so she could lean against the pillows. "I'm so sorry," he apologised sadly. "You need to be in a hospital right now, but it's not safe. If you can sit up it might help you breathe a little better, okay?" he asked, purposefully phrasing it as a question so she could just nod or shake her head in response.

"I...I don't...want to..." she gasped, trying to tell him something but having trouble.

"Shh," he soothed, smoothing down her dirty, stringy hair. "It's okay. Just focus on breathing. We have plenty of time to talk now," he assured her. "I'm going to get you some water and some tylenol. I'll be right back."

"No," she protested, pulling him back.

"I'll be right back," he repeated. He rushed out of the room and grabbed the water from the fridge, ransacking the medical bags for the white bottles. Finding the one he wanted, he hurried back to her side and wiped away the tears that had fallen in his absence. "If I can't cry you can't either," he teased. He uncapped the bottle of water and helped her swallow the pills, watching carefully to make sure she got everything down. Knowing she had to be horribly thirsty, he raised the bottle back to her lips and held it steady as she drank. "How do you feel?" he asked when she finished, placing his wrist on her forehead to gauge her temperature. She didn't feel much cooler, but at least she looked a little more comfortable.

"I'm cold," she answered, another shiver running through her.

"I know," he breathed sympathetically, tucking her hair behind her ear. "You've got a bad fever, though. We need to get you cooled down. As soon as your temperature goes down you can have some blankets. Do you want anything else? Are you hungry?"

She considered the question for a moment, but then shook her head and laid it back on the pillow, allowing her eyes to flutter closed. "Tired," she muttered quietly.

"You can go back to sleep if you want," he offered.

Another series of coughs began before she could answer, and she collapsed against the pillows when the fit finally ended. The coughing exhausted her tired body, and she couldn't keep her head up, allowing it to fall to the side. She seemed to be breathing just a little easier, but her eyes fluttered closed once more. "Stay," she murmured weakly.

"I'll be right here," he promised.

Some time later Doctor Harris returned and administered more of the antibiotics, checking her vitals and temperature once more. Her fever had gone down a little more, but her lungs were still raspy and her breathing shallow. She slept more fitfully this time, moving her head and moaning as the memories haunted her sleep. Vaughn remained by her side until the sun began to set again, and even then he left just long enough to eat some dinner and refill his cup with the coffee keeping him awake and alert.

Sydney woke again shortly after he returned, whimpering from pain and the fear Vaughn could see in her eyes. She looked frantically around the room until she found him, and then allowed her eyes to flutter closed again. "I'm not going anywhere," he whispered. "Go back to sleep."

"No," she protested, forcing her eyes open again. "I don't want to sleep."

"Syd, I promise I'm not going anywhere. I'll be here when you wake up. Just trust me."

"Talk to me," she pleaded.

The despair and the need alarmed him, so uncharacteristic of the Sydney he knew before. _But she's not the Sydney from before_, he reminded himself. He didn't love her any less, but she was still a different person, and he needed to accept that before she noticed his surprise and started feeling guilty for her vulnerability. "I can do that," he promised. He didn't have many happy stories to tell her about the time that had passed since their last night together, so he talked about his childhood, about playing hockey, about trips with his mother to France. He was pretty sure she fell asleep within ten minutes, but he kept talking anyway, hoping the sound of his voice would keep her calm.

And it seemed to work. She slept peacefully, face free of the fear he'd seen earlier, completely relaxed in her slumber. When he was sure she wouldn't awaken anytime soon, he rose and stretched his stiff muscles, working out the tension and the soreness from sitting in the chair for so long. He grabbed his duffel bag and searched for something moderately clean; he'd been in the same clothes for well over 24 hours. He didn't bring much, not planning to be gone long, but he did have the sense to throw a t-shirt and sweatpants into the bag before he left. He grabbed the clothes and wandered to the bathroom, more than ready for a hot shower.

He emerged from the bathroom feeling a little more human, and then immediately felt guilty for begrudging a day in the same clothes and without a shower after what Sydney had endured. She would probably be disgusted and humiliated when she was a little more cognisant of her surroundings, but he certainly didn't care how she looked right now.

The chair no longer seemed a wise choice for sleep, so he grabbed the blankets he'd pulled off the bed and spread them out on the floor next to Sydney. Within minutes he succumbed to his exhaustion, resting in the knowledge that he would awaken at the slightest interruption to her sleep.

When he woke the next morning, Vaughn rolled over and blinked in surprise, startled to find Doctor Harris standing right over him. "Is she awake?" he mumbled, sitting up and rubbing his eyes, embarrassed to be caught sleeping instead of keeping vigil.

"She's awake," Sydney answered for him.

Doctor Harris chuckled and pulled the sheet back over Sydney, quickly assuring her she could call for him if she needed anything. He left the room, and Vaughn moved to the chair, smiling at the sight of a fully alert Sydney sitting up in bed against the pillows.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," she teased.

"Good morning," he beamed. "Did you sleep okay? Have you been awake long?"

"I just woke up a few minutes ago," she admitted. "Doctor Harris checked my temperature."

"Was it better?" he asked worriedly, moving his wrist to her forehead, relieved to find it significantly cooler than the last time he checked.

"I don't know," she shrugged. "He said it was 101. Is that better?"

"Much," he sighed, relaxing in his chair. "Do you remember anything from yesterday?"

Sydney frowned and lowered her eyes in concentration, trying hard to retrieve the fuzzy memories. "Not really," she shook her head. "Just you talking to me."

"That's good," he praised, automatically sensing her frustration. "You had a really high fever; I wouldn't expect you to remember much. How do you feel this morning?"

"I don't know," she answered again, tears pricking her eyes. "I don't know how I felt before. I can't...I can't remember. They tortured me, Vaughn. It was always dark. I tried keeping track of time, but then I started blacking out. I never knew how long it had been when I woke up...I quit trying. I just remember the pain," she shuddered, quickly losing control of her breath as panic began setting in.

"Okay, okay," he cut her off, moving closer and stroking her cheek. "It's alright. Don't try to force yourself. Just breathe. You're safe now."

She nodded and clenched her eyes shut, removing his hand from her face and clinging to it desperately. "I want to go home," she whimpered. "Can we go home?"

"Not yet, Syd," he said quietly. "You need to get better first."

"I don't even know what's wrong with me!" she protested in frustration.

"Shh," he soothed her again. He made a quick decision and sat down on the bed, gently moving her to rest against his chest. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, coughing a little as she did, bracing herself in his arms. "There you go," he murmured. "Just take it easy. You've been through a lot, Syd. You have pneumonia - that's why it's hard to breathe and why your fever was so bad. Are you hurting?"

"Yes," she nodded. "My chest."

His own heart skipped a beat as terror seized him. He knew it was normal, that her chest was tight and sore, but his imagination still entertained the notion of something wrong with her heart. "I'll see what Doctor Harris can do for you. When the medicine starts working your lungs will clear up."

"Is that all?" she asked hopefully.

God he wished he could say yes. "You've been through a lot," he said again. "You've lost way too much weight, and you're dehydrated."

"So when can I go home?" she repeated.

"Syd, you're not stable yet," he answered gently.

"Stop! Stop patronising me!" she demanded, displaying a little of the Sydney Bristow spunk he was accustomed to.

"I'm sorry," he apologised quietly. "I'm just a little paranoid about you right now. I want to make it easier."

"Then tell me the truth."

He sighed and pulled her back against his chest, rubbing her arms again to comfort her. "It could be a while," he confessed. "You're in bad shape, Syd. We can't risk taking you home until your vitals are better. For right now you need to stay put and not move around too much. I promise I'll take you home the minute you're ready, and I'll do everything I can to make that as soon as possible."

She nodded in understanding, but he felt her trembling with tears, and he didn't blame her. He couldn't even imagine how much she must miss the comfort and security of home, and as scared as he was, she must be so terrified of going back. "Are you staying with me?" she asked meekly.

"Of course," he swore immediately. "You're going to be sick of me pretty soon," he teased.

"No," she refuted, no hint of laughter in her tone. "I missed you so much," she whispered.

"God, Syd, I can't even tell you how much I missed you. For months now I've been beating myself up for never saying this, so I'm going to say it now - I love you. I've loved you for so long." Tears began to seep out of his eyes as he said the words he'd whispered to her image in the air, to the waves where he tossed her ashes, to the name engraved on the wall...but never to her. "I'm sorry I never told you, Sydney."

"I knew, Vaughn," she whispered, raising her hand again to wipe away his tears.

He laughed a little in self-deprecation and removed her hand, squeezing it tightly, needing to feel her here with him. "Still...I love you, Sydney."

"I love you too," she murmured. She grew silent then, and he stroked her stringy hair lovingly, attempting to lull her back into a peaceful sleep. "Vaughn?" she asked a few minutes later, surprising him. "You said you've been beating yourself up for months...how long have I been gone?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Vaughn squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the memories of the last awful months. "Four months," he managed. "They told me you were dead, Syd."

"What?" she asked in confusion. "I don't..."

"There was a fire," he explained, eyes still closed. "They burned your apartment down. There were...there were remains," he stammered, remembering when he believed those ashes were hers. "The DNA matched, Syd. I didn't want to believe it, but everyone kept telling me I had to accept it. I tried to, Syd, I really did. And then I was just so angry...I snapped. Your dad's been the only reason I still have a job. He's signed off on all these crazy missions to find the people that killed you."

"Vaughn," she murmured sadly. "I would have wanted you to be happy."

"I couldn't," he shook his head. He opened his eyes and looked into hers, moved by the pain and compassion he found there. She reached her arms out weakly, inviting him into her embrace. Forgetting all of his reservations and fears of hurting her, he accepted the invitation and buried his head in the crook of her neck, sobbing against her shoulder. "You were dead," he cried. "I just wanted to go with you, Syd. None of it made sense without you. I didn't want to be here anymore. The only thing that kept me going was revenge. I wanted to kill them for taking you away from me. I Iwill/I kill them for what they did to you. You didn't deserve this, Syd. I should have protected you from all of this. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I let you down."

"Shh," she soothed in vain. "Shh, I'm here, Vaughn. You didn't let me down. You saved me."

"You've been out there this whole time. I should have saved you a long time ago. I should have kept them from taking you in the first place," he protested, shaking his head against her t-shirt. The grief and regret and self-recrimination had taken over now, overruling all rational thought as he fell apart. So much time he lost with her, so much he could have prevented...

"You didn't know," she whispered. "You didn't know. You couldn't have. I don't blame you for this."

"I blame myself!" he cried.

"Stop," she commanded, trying to sound firm despite the weak timbre of her tired voice. "Stop it, Vaughn. Don't do this to yourself."

"Someone has to pay for this," he swore, his tears still soaking through the white cotton of her shirt. "For what they did to you..."

"But not you," she soothed, rocking him gently and tangling her fingers in the thick strands of hair around his neck. "Vaughn, don't you get it? Everyone said goodbye to me. I don't blame them for that, and if I was really dead I would want you to move on with your life, but you didn't let go. You're the only one that didn't let go, and that Isaved my life./I So whatever else your head is telling you right now, you saved me. I'm here because of you. How could I possibly blame you for anything?" she asked gently.

"I'm just so sorry," he murmured, his sobs slowing down. He stayed in the shelter of her arms, trailing his fingers along her bony shoulder. "I'm so sorry for everything."

"Don't be," she breathed. "I just need you now, Vaughn. Please, I just need you to be here with me." Her voice cracked on the words, and he pulled away, examining her tear-streaked face.

"I won't leave again," he promised. "I'm not letting you out of my sight."

She smiled at this, but he could tell she was tired again. He smoothed down the hair he rumpled in his despairing embrace and carefully moved her back against the pillows. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so tired."

"It's okay. Just try to stay awake a few more minutes for me," he requested. He kissed the top of her head and dashed out of the room, returning a few minutes later with the liquid supplement Doctor Harris picked up in town. He stuck a straw in the can and handed it to her, laughing a little at the look of protest on her face. "Yeah, I know. It doesn't look that good. But I need you to try, okay?"

She nodded and took it from him, slowly taking a sip and then wrinkling her nose in disgust. He watched her carefully as she tried again, but her hands were shaking and she couldn't hold it anymore. He quickly grabbed it before she lost her grip and held it up for her to continue drinking. "Vaughn, I can't," she protested. "I don't think I can keep it down."

"Take it slow," he soothed. "Try again."

She sighed and took another sip. "You drink it," she said irritably. "It's disgusting. And it makes my stomach hurt."

"That's because you're malnourished," he explained softly. "Those bastards have been starving you for four months; you're wasting away."

"Hey, I didn't mean..." she began quietly, instantly regretting her complaints in light of his misery.

"It's okay," he said, waving his hand in dismissal. "I just wish this wasn't so hard for you. It wasn't your fault, and you're still the one paying for it."

"But it's going to get easier, right?" she asked hopefully.

"It will," he swore. Mustering a little grin, he pushed the can back towards her. "But only if you're good and do what I tell you to do."

"Don't let it go to your head, Agent Vaughn," she warned him, reluctantly accepting the drink. He sat with her and squeezed her hand in support, watching as she dutifully drank it all. She groaned in discomfort and closed her eyes, burrowing down beneath the covers. He tucked them around her and kissed her forehead, running a hand through her hair as her eyes closed. "You should sleep," she mumbled into her pillow.

"I'm alright."

"Lay down with me," she urged him, moving over a little to make room.

"I don't know, Syd..." he said hesitantly. He didn't want to disturb her IV, and he was afraid he might move in his sleep and hurt her.

"I need to be held," she pleaded. "Please, Vaughn. I just want to feel safe."

Her quiet request nearly broke his heart, and he quickly stripped down to his boxers and t-shirt and crawled into bed behind her. Careful not to get in the way of her drip, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her to his chest. She sighed in contentment and curled up, tucking her head beneath his chin. "Love you," she murmured.

"I love you, too."

The next few days followed the same pattern, Sydney sleeping most of the day and Vaughn sitting in the chair next to her. She obediently did everything Doctor Harris requested of her, but by day seven she looked only slightly better than she did the first night they found her. Her attitude, however, returned a little faster. She wanted to go home, and in typical Sydney fashion, she swore she was ready for the long trip when everyone knew she wasn't.

He blamed Jack for planting the idea in the first place. After she fell asleep last night he argued and yelled at her father over the phone, questioning his judgment and trying to convince him to leave her be for at least another few days. She woke again in the middle of their quarrel, disturbed by the volume of his normally gentle voice, and somehow stumbled out of bed without help to find him in the living room. He hung up the phone immediately, not even ending the call before he flew to her side.

"Are you sure you're up for this?" he asked in concern the next morning, not liking this one bit. Her skin was still horribly pale and her cough still persisted even after a week in the safe house. She'd held her own without the aide of oxygen, but she was just now beginning to move around at all. He knew they couldn't stay here much longer, but there were plenty of other safe houses and cities to hide her in that would be much closer and much less taxing. There would be round-the-clock security in LA, so he wasn't worried about them finding her there, but he could tell she wasn't strong enough to fly all the way back to California. Looking into her eyes, he could tell she knew that as well.

"I want to go home," she said quietly, her voice trembling.

"I know you do," he sympathised. "And I want to take you home. But we need to be patient, Syd. You're not ready for this. Please, don't lie to me," he begged her. Sensing her hesitation, he sighed and sat down on the bed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "How about a compromise?" he suggested. "We'll go ahead and fly to London, but if you're struggling, we'll stay there. We can take it a plane ride at a time."

A tear of disappointment rolled down her cheek, but she nodded in agreement. "Okay. I can do that."

She turned her face away from him, trying to hide the look of hurt, but he squeezed her hand and forced her to look at him. "I know this isn't what you want, but just take it slow, Syd. We'll get you home, I promise."

"I miss my dad," she choked, turning suddenly and burying her face in his sweater.

"I know," he soothed, rubbing her back to calm her down. "He misses you, too. But he's not going anywhere. You'll see him soon. Just hold on a little bit longer."

He let her cry for a few more minutes, allowing her to release her frustrations before helping her stand. She wobbled unsteadily and immediately grabbed his arms, closing her eyes as she fought to steady herself. This was exactly why he didn't want to let her travel all the way home, but he didn't point that out. Keeping an arm looped around her waist, he slowly led her outside to the car and opened the door. She was asleep again as soon as they pulled out of the safe house, her head on Vaughn's lap the entire way to the air strip. He attempted to rouse her when they reached the plane, but she was completely gone, so he carefully crawled out of the car and lifted her into his arms. Jeff helped him into the plane and ushered him to some seats near the back, raising the arm rests so Vaughn could lay her down. "I'll get you some blankets," he offered.

Vaughn nodded in thanks and sat down in the spare seat next to Sydney's prone form. Jeff returned and piled the blankets on top of her, smiling in reassurance as Vaughn leaned wearily against his seat.

After four more days in London and two in New York, they finally boarded a plane to head back to Los Angeles. He helped her lay down across the seats, her head resting in his lap, and stroked her hair. She couldn't quite handle a shower by herself, and he didn't want to suggest anything that would make her uncomfortable, so he helped her wash her hair in the sink and clean up as much as possible in preparation for her long-awaited homecoming. "Tell me everything," she requested as the plane took off.

"Everything?" he laughed. "Hm...well, Weiss is good. He had a date last week, and it was...disastrous...but he's good."

She giggled, and he beamed at the sound. "How about Marshall?"

"Get this...he's dating Carrie."

"What?" she asked incredulously. "Marshall?"

"I swear," Vaughn chuckled. "I'm not sure how that works out, but they both seem really happy. And let's see...Dixon took a little time off to be with his kids, but I think he's back at work now."

She nodded, but her expression suddenly darkened.

"What's wrong?" he asked quietly.

"I've never asked...about Will. Francie is...I know she must be dead..."

"I'm sorry, Syd," he murmured, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "I know how much you loved her."

She nodded and swallowed hard, fighting tears. "And Will?"

"He's alive, Syd. He crawled out before the fire. It was touch and go for a few days, but he's doing great now. The agency offered to let him train for field work, but I think he'd had enough. He went into witness protection...but he's safe, Syd. He's fine."

"So that's it," she breathed. "They're all gone. My old life..." She dissolved into sobs, and he was helpless to do anything to ease her pain. He continued stroking her hair and whispering soothing words, and thankfully, she quickly exhausted herself. She slept the rest of the way, curled up in his lap. His muscles started to ache from sitting in the same position for so long, but he would take physical pain in exchange for her comfort and safety any day.

He woke her just before they landed, squeezing her hand tightly in reassurance. She was trembling with excitement as he helped her out of the plane, her eyes immediately scanning the darkened airstrip for her dad.

"Sydney," her father breathed, still having trouble believing that his baby was safe and alive even after speaking to her several times on the phone. He hurried to her side, opening his arms to embrace her as she stepped out of Vaughn's protection.

"Daddy!" she sobbed, clinging to him with all the strength she possessed.

"Shh, Sweetheart," he soothed her, looking at Vaughn over her shoulder. "I'm here, Sydney. You're safe," he whispered.

"I missed you so much," she cried.

"I missed you, too, Sweetheart. I love you, Sydney. Losing you..." he began, trailing off as he realised no words could do justice to his grief. "I'm so glad you're here," he managed.

"Thank you, Daddy," she breathed, releasing her impossibly tight hold on him. She stayed close, her hand still on his arm as Vaughn stepped up to steady her again.

"You okay?" he asked in concern.

"I'm fine," she nodded bravely.

"You're not fine," Jack argued. "How could you be after what those sick bastards did to you?"

Vaughn shot Jack a look of warning and shook his head, indicating that now was not the time for that particular discussion. "We've got a bed reserved at Stafford," he explained, glad that he and Sydney had discussed this long before they landed in LA. She didn't like it, but she agreed, knowing she would feel a hell of a lot better if she got some real treatment.

"That's probably for the best," Jack nodded, carefully stepping away. Sydney leaned heavily against Vaughn, already growing tired again.

"You ready to go?" he whispered into her ear.

"Will you come visit, Dad?" she asked, looking up at her dad with wide, vulnerable eyes no man alive, especially Jack, could resist.

"Of course, Sweetheart," he assured her. "Why don't you and Vaughn go get settled in. I'll be there first thing in the morning."

She nodded and yawned, too tired to say more. Vaughn smiled briefly at Jack and wrapped his arm back around her waist, slowly escorting her to the ambulance waiting to drive them to the military hospital.

An hour later Sydney was sound asleep in a private room, a new IV running through the back of her hand and an oxygen tube beneath her nose. A monitor clipped to her finger showed her steady heart rate, and Vaughn sat at her side, his hand laced with hers and his head next to her stomach as he slept peacefully for the first time in over four months. The doctor had tried sending him home, but there was no way in hell he was leaving this hospital until she was with him. He'd spent too much time without her to willingly accept and agree to needless hours of separation. He would sleep better here than at home anyway. The doctors didn't predict a long stay unless she was having trouble keeping food down, and knowing Sydney the way he did, he had a feeling she would do whatever it took to get out of here as soon as possible. And knowing Sydney, the doctors and nurses would be more than ready to release her into his care.

He woke in the morning long before she did and ventured down the hallway to find coffee and something resembling breakfast. Walking past the window he saw a reflection of himself and shook his head. He looked now better now than he had four months ago after staying up all night drinking and talking to Sydney. But that was precisely why he couldn't leave her now, even if it was just to go home, eat a decent meal, get some sleep, and take a shower. The longer she was out of his sight, the more convinced he became that it was all just a dream, that he'd hallucinated her presence once more and had to continue living his life without her. No, he couldn't leave here without her. The thirty minute drive from the hospital to his apartment alone would nearly kill him.

Jack was sitting in a chair opposite Vaughn's when he returned with a cup of steaming black coffee and a muffin from the hospital cafeteria. The two men acknowledged one another, but neither spoke, watching Sydney sleep peacefully instead.

"I owe you my gratitude," Jack finally said after nearly an hour of silence.

Vaughn looked up in surprise, not expecting to ever hear those words out of Jack Bristow's mouth. They'd come to something of an understanding after Sydney died, and Vaughn knew the older man respected his need to find justice for Sydney's killers, but there was always an unspoken and underlying tension between them that just wouldn't disappear. "You don't owe me anything," Vaughn asserted, grabbing Sydney's hand and squeezing it in his own. She responded slightly to the contact, turning her head towards him. He smiled a little and leaned over, kissing her forehead and allowing his lips to linger there despite the eyes closely watching him.

"You found her," Jack countered quietly. "The rest of us were learning to let go of her."

"Jack," he protested, shaking his head. He really didn't want to play therapist right now, and if he had been in Jack's position, he would be feeling pretty shitty right about now. "I didn't know anymore than you did," he reasoned. "I just...I wasn't prepared to lose her...not after all we'd been through. It made me crazy. I snapped."

"I wasn't prepared either," Jack argued. "But I was tired," he admitted. "She fought so hard, and then they just took her away."

Uncomfortable with the emotional conversation, Vaughn shifted nervously and brought Sydney's hand into his lap. "Look, Jack," he began. "I got lucky. I got insanely lucky. I wasn't even the one that found her. It was just some rookie agent that agreed to go on a crazy mission. And the truth is, I think I needed her more than she needed me. So I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I don't need your gratitude."

Jack nodded in acquiescence, and silence returned to the room. Another hour passed before Sydney awakened again, confused and disoriented. Her fuzzy mind couldn't put together the random memories juxtaposed in her head, and her breathing became strained again as the beeping heart monitor sped up.

"Syd!" Vaughn cried, rising to try to calm her. "It's me, Baby. Calm down. You're safe."

Tears streamed down her face as she shook her head, refusing to believe what had to be a dream. Jack stood up and grabbed her other hand, moving into her line of vision. "Sweetheart," he tried to soothe. "You're home. Remember? Vaughn brought you home last night."

She looked back to Vaughn for confirmation, stifling a sob as he nodded and stroked her cheek with his thumb. The nurse heard the commotion and came to check her vitals, jotting down everything on the chart at the end of Sydney's bed. Vaughn lowered himself to her bed and manoeuvered around the IV lines to sit behind her, pulling her into his lap and allowing her head to fall against his chest. "Remember now?" he asked softly, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

She nodded but continued to cry quietly. Jack took a seat on the other side of her bed, holding her hand tightly in an effort to comfort her. She relaxed in their presence, turning her face to rest on Vaughn's shirt as her dad just continued to hold onto her hand. "It's okay now, Sydney," he father said reassuringly, giving her fingers a squeeze.

Sydney said nothing, just burrowing her face in Vaughn's shirt and clinging desperately to Jack's hand. He and Vaughn shared a worried look, not sure what to do. "I want to go home," she finally whispered.

Vaughn glanced back at Jack, who then nodded and rose, placing a kiss on Sydney's cheek. "I'll be back in a little while, Sweetheart," he promised her before slipping out of the room.

"Vaughn, take me home," she begged him.

"Syd, we talked about this," he reminded her, not looking forward to revisiting this topic of conversation. He pulled her head back to his chest, unable to look her in the eye s and see the lost and pleading expression. "I want to take you home more than anything, but you need to be here for now," he reasoned.

"I'm fine," she assured him. "You can take care of me. You were taking care of me before and everything was okay."

"Syd," he protested, knowing he was fighting a losing battle. "One more day," he proposed. "Not even a whole day. If you can eat and walk around a little on your own, I'll take you home tonight."

Her eyes lit up at this, her lips turning upward in a brilliant smile. He shook his head in self-deprecation, already losing battles less than a week after finding her again. The nurse arrived shortly after with a tray of food for Sydney, and Vaughn took it from her and sat down with Sydney.

"Oooh look," he grinned. "Oatmeal!"

Sydney groaned and leaned her head back against the pillow in protest. "This sucks," she sighed.

"I'm sure that's an understatement," he laughed, feeding her a spoonful. He kept it coming, and she obediently accepted it with the hopes of getting home faster.

"I feel sick," she moaned when it was gone.

"I know, and I'm sorry," he sympathised. "I hate to make it worse, but can you drink the juice?" he asked hopefully.

She nodded and accepted the glass, drinking it all for his sake. "I think I'm gonna sleep again," she yawned when she finished.

"Okay," he smiled, brushing her forehead with a light kiss. He hesitated for a moment, watching as she got comfortable beneath the blankets and reached for his hand, expecting him to sit with her as he'd done every day for the past six days. "I really don't want to do this..." he began nervously, picking up her hand and tracing a few small circles with his thumb. "I have nothing at home, Syd. You'll need clothes, and I doubt I even have any food."

"It's okay, Vaughn," she assured him quietly, her eyes betraying her words. "I'll be okay."

"I know," he sighed, "but I still don't like it. I don't want to let you out of my sight," he admitted.

"You'll have to eventually," she reminded him gently. "Go ahead," she encouraged him despite the obvious trepidation lurking behind her carefully schooled expression. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Okay," he finally nodded. "Do you want me to wait for your dad to come back?"

"No, it's fine. Will you just stay until I'm asleep? It's not like it will take a long time or anything," she remarked.

He laughed at her quiet attempt at humour, reclaiming his seat by her bed. "Go to sleep, Beautiful," he whispered, tucking the blankets back up around her. "I'll be back in a few hours."

Fighting the powerful waves of anxiety that washed over him as every step took him further away from Sydney, Vaughn forced himself to act like a rational adult. There was plenty of security keeping an eye on the hospital and all of LA, for that matter, and Jack was at the hospital with her to make sure nothing happened. He'd been with her for almost two weeks straight now, and he knew it wasn't a dream or a hallucination. Others had confirmed her presence...he'd held her, touched her, tasted her, slept with her...she was real and alive and safe and sososo happy to be with him again. An hour at the mall picking out new pyjamas and sweats to replace all her beloved clothing lost in the fire and another hour or so buying enough food to sustain them both for a few days wasn't going to change anything.

He intentionally took his time, reminding himself over and over that she was sleeping in a hospital bed nearby, waiting for him to return and take her home. He felt the overwhelming desire to spoil her senseless, and he figured she wouldn't balk this time after months of deprivation, so he carefully picked through the endless onslaught of clothing in the women's section of the department store, baffled by the many selections. In the end he received help from an overfriendly saleswoman, who dropped the excessive friendliness and simply became a saleswoman when he explained that he was shopping for his _very_ serious girlfriend. It felt good just to say the words again without attaching 'late' or 'dead' to the beginning, and it felt even better to smile that goofy grin he always found on his face when he started thinking about her. Janice, the saleswoman, found his devotion adorable, and he milked it up with a fabricated tale about a bad car accident that would have her bed-ridden for quite some time. She tore through the store at a startling pace, easily picking out the essentials he would have taken hours to find. He happily paid for them all and thanked Janice for her help, not at all minding the patronising looks he received as he toted his bags back to the car. If anyone knew the real story, they wouldn't even dare to laugh.

The grocery store proved a bit harder, and he was always bad at figuring out what to buy. She used to tease him incessantly for his limited shopping abilities, and eventually she insisted on going with him and helping him stock up. If he did it himself, he usually ended up with cereal and pasta and then wondered all week why he had to order take-out for every meal. He walked slowly up and down the aisles, carefully examining every option on the shelves. Anything soft and easy for her to eat went in the cart, and he read the backs of all the boxes (a new and foreign idea to him) to determine what would be most beneficial. His last stop was the frozen foods section, but he intentionally avoided the coffee ice cream he used to buy every week. Instead he chose another flavour, knowing she would eventually feel the need to eat it straight out of the carton and not wanting to dredge up memories that remained far too painful for right now. The excitement of bringing her home dulled a little at the thought, and his mood darkened as he loaded the bags into his car. For thirteen days he focused on getting her strong enough to make it home, and for thirteen days, she concentrated on surviving the physical pain. Other than a few brief meltdowns when she woke up and a few emotional outpourings of his own, neither had spoken about the painful truths awaiting them. He implied in all his conversations that 'home' was his apartment, but it probably wouldn't hit her until he helped her inside and tucked her into his bed. He inwardly cursed himself for never making her go to his place. Hers was closer and more convenient, so they naturally migrated there after work or going out. She had never even fallen asleep in his bed, and now more than ever, she needed the small comfort of _something_ she recognised.

Heavy-hearted, he unloaded the groceries into his empty pantry and tossed out the spoiled food sitting in his fridge, adding all of the alcohol, minus one bottle of wine, as an afterthought. He found the book she gave him and placed it on the nightstand, desperate to give her something familiar in the midst of all the new surroundings, and added her new clothes to the drawers long ago cleared out for her possessions. He hadn't dusted or cleaned the place in the four months, and it very much resembled the typical bachelor pad...not exactly the comfortable, homey sanctuary he wanted to offer. Glancing down at his watch he realised it was already mid-afternoon. Remembering his promise to be back in a few hours, he abandoned his self-loathing for the time being and grabbed his keys.

The soft sound of her laughter drifted beneath the closed door to her private room when he returned, and he leaned against the wall for just a moment to savour the sound he never thought he would have the pleasure of hearing again. He pushed the door slowly open and stepped in quietly, careful not to disturb her peace as he returned to his seat next to her. Jack was smiling just a little from his seat on the bed, and from the empty tray beside the bed, Vaughn deduced that her father helped her with lunch. "Hey, you're back," Sydney smiled, reaching her hand out to him.

"Of course," he smiled back, lifting her knuckles to his lips and kissing them softly. Four months ago he would never dream of so brazenly showing his affection in front of Jack, but somehow her father's approval meant nothing to him now. He also had the distinct feeling Jack would agree with anything that brought a smile back to his daughter's face.

"Do we have more to eat than cereal and pasta?" she teased.

"Not if you keep up the attitude," he quipped. "I'll have you know I put a lot of thought into the grocery shopping."

"That's what worries me."

Jack rose from his seat looking slightly amused and leaned over to kiss Sydney's forehead. "I'll leave you two alone for a little bit. I'll be back before you go home," he assured her.

"Did I miss something?" Sydney asked, frowning in confusion when her dad closed the door.

"What do you mean?" Vaughn asked, taking a seat on the bed next to her.

"Since when does my dad decide to give us 'alone time?' And why is he letting me shack up with my boyfriend without a fight?"

"Shack up?" Vaughn raised an eyebrow. "Is that all this is to you?" he teased.

"You know what I mean," she rolled her eyes.

Vaughn grew serious and fussed with the sheets tucked around her for a moment. "We were lost without you, Syd," he commented softly. "Your dad was the only person that could even come close to understanding how much it hurt to lose you. We had no choice but to help each other."

Her face softened, and she leaned over for a chaste kiss. "I love you," she whispered. "I hate how much pain you went through, but I'm glad you and my dad don't hate each other anymore."

Vaughn thought about adding more, but then looked at her weary face and decided to go another route. "Well, I never said that. I'm sure things will get back to normal soon, and I'll have to worry about my life again."

Sydney giggled at this and pressed her forehead to his, and he revelled for a moment in her open affection. Though their interactions had been limited to sweet kisses and holding each other at night, she had become infinitely more demonstrative of her love in the last two weeks. He certainly understood; he wanted to shout to the whole world that the woman he loved was alive. "I ate all my lunch," she whispered suddenly.

"I saw that," he chuckled. "You wanna take a walk with me?"

"Really?" she asked excitedly.

He nodded and smiled, but his heart broke just a little to see how happy the simple idea of a walk made her. She deserved so much better than this. Pushing those thoughts aside to focus on making her smile now, he brushed her hair and helped her out of bed. They stood for a moment while she found her balance, and he rested his hand on her waist for support. Guiding her out to the hallway, he eased up a little on assisting her and carefully gauged her expression. She was obviously concentrating on each step, her face twisted in frustration and discomfort. "So what do you want to do first?" he asked, trying to take her mind off the pain.

She turned her head to the side, considering for a moment. "Take a bath," she finally answered. "A long one."

"I think we can arrange that. What else?"

"Go to the beach. La Jolla, maybe. We could just...walk. Watch the sunset," she sighed.

He stopped for a moment and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. "That sounds great."

They continued walking for another ten minutes before Sydney started fading. He quietly turned them around and headed back to her room, his hand returning to her waist as she lost momentum and drive. By the time he got her back in bed she was half-asleep, and without saying a word, she curled up and fell asleep again.

He woke her a few hours after their walk for dinner, and after they ate he argued with the doctors for a while, finally managing to get the papers to sign her out AMA. She brightened when he brought the papers in, scrawling her name the best she could on the lines, and he just prayed he wasn't making a huge mistake indulging her like this.

An hour later he watched her wistful expression as she stared out the window at all the familiar landmarks."It's really gone," she said quietly as they passed the green sign announcing the exit ramp that would lead them to her apartment.

"Yeah," he nodded, forcing himself to swallow his own emotions as the reality of it all caught up with her. "I'm sorry, Syd. I wish I could give it all back."

"I know," she whispered, turning just long enough to offer a small smile in gratitude for his efforts to comfort her. "I love you even more for that," she sighed.

"I love you, too," he offered softly. "I know my place isn't really home for you, but we can fix it up however you want. We don't even have to stay there if you don't like it. I mean...you don't have to stay anyway..."

"Vaughn," she cut him off. "Of course I want to stay with you."

"Okay, I just didn't want to pressure you."

"I'm tired," she sighed. "I don't want to take it slow anymore. I don't want to worry about doing it right. Everything's different now." Tears seeped out of her eyes and crept down her pale cheeks as she thought of the life she would never have again. "What else do we have to lose before it's not worth it anymore?" she asked, only half-expecting an answer.

"It's not worth it to me," he swore gravely. "Nothing was worth losing you." More words were itching to be uttered, desperate to get out, but he stifled them, afraid of burdening her with too much too soon. Later she would be stronger. Later she would be ready to hear everything he needed to say. For now he reached across the console and grabbed her hand, negotiating the steering wheel with the other as he pulled off the freeway to head home. He heard her breath hitch when he raised the garage door and parked the car, and he offered an encouraging smile before climbing out.

"I like it," she said softly.

"You might change your mind when I take you inside," he laughed, helping her out of the car. His hand on the small of her back guided her inside, taking it slowly as he led her straight into the bedroom.

"So much for the grand tour," she sighed, sinking heavily into his mattress.

"It's not much of a tour," he assured her. He made sure she was comfortable and approached the dresser, digging through the drawers to find a pair of the pyjamas he bought earlier. "This okay?" he asked, pulling out a pair of green flannel pants and a matching top.

"Perfect. Do you always have a drawer full of clothes for all the girls you pick up?" she teased.

"Yeah, and you got lucky. The last one was about your size," he played along. He sat down next to her, and the laughter died. The other times he'd changed her clothes she'd only been semi-conscious and mostly oblivious to what he was doing. This time she was wide awake and still needed his help. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

"It's okay," she answered shakily. "It's not like you haven't..."

"I know," he cut her off. "But it's okay if you're not comfortable with it," he assured her.

"It's not because I'm uncomfortable with you..."

"I know that, too. I understand, Syd. Do you want to try yourself?"

She considered for a moment but then shook her head. "Everything hurts," she admitted quietly, hating to confess how awful everything truly felt right now. "And I don't want it to be weird, Vaughn. It was never awkward for me...to touch you..."

"Syd," he breathed quietly, sitting down on the bed next to her and taking her hands. "We found you two weeks ago. You're sick, you're hurt, and I know you're scared. We'll get back there, I promise, but it's okay if you're not ready."

"No," she protested. "Please," she begged him.

He didn't understand why she felt so strongly about this, but he wasn't about to refuse her such a simple request. He would give her anything within his power to give to spare her a little of this pain, so if she wanted his help he would give it to her. A female agent brought her some clothes to change into when she was released from the hospital, but the sweatpants were too short and the t-shirt too large, so he started with the shirt. Keeping his eyes on hers, he gently tugged on the hem of the shirt, and pulled it up over her bandaged abdomen. "Can you hold your arms up?" he prodded. She winced as she raised them, but she managed to keep them up long enough for him to pull the shirt over her head. The saleswoman had wisely suggested shirts that buttoned, so it was much easier and much less painful to feed her arms through the sleeves. He sat back on his heels to let her do the buttons, but he quickly moved his hands to steady hers as they trembled.

"I can't even do my buttons," she cried in frustration, dropping her hands to let him finish.

"Don't worry about it," he soothed. "It's gonna get better, I swear."

"I know," she sighed. "I'm sorry. I know it's not a big deal..."

"Don't," he cut her off. "I can't imagine how frustrating this must be for you."

"Yeah, but..."

"Syd, please," he begged her, his voice choking with emotion. He knew where she wanted to take this, but he just couldn't. Not now. It was too soon. He couldn't handle talking about her "death" anymore right now. More than anything, he just wanted to pretend none of it had happened. If he could just pretend she was missing, that he'd known she was out there all along, that he was going on those crazy missions to find her and bring her home he could block out the hopelessness and despair he didn't want to remember. "It's...you're tired," he tried to reason. "Let's just get some sleep."

She nodded reluctantly and closed her eyes, allowing him to quickly trade out the sweatpants for the new flannel pyjamas. Once he finished he pulled down the blankets and sheets on his bed, carefully pulling her legs up and tucking her in, making sure she was warm enough. "How's that?" he asked softly, brushing her hair off her face and smiling tenderly.

"Heaven," she breathed. "Will you stay?"

"Are you sure you want me to?" he asked uncertainly.

"I'm sure," she nodded. "I missed curling up in your arms," she added quietly. "That's what I missed most. It was too cold without you."

"Oh, so you just want me for my body heat?" he teased, knowing what she meant anyway.

"Well, it's a perk," she laughed. "But why be away from you when I can be with you?"

"Can't argue with that," he smiled. "I'm just going to close the garage door and lock up, and then I'll be back here to change. I'll be fast," he promised, "but you can go ahead and sleep."

She nodded, but when he returned five minutes later, her eyes were still open. He didn't question her, sensing that she was too tired for more conversation, and crawled into bed behind her, gently wrapping his arm around her waist. She immediately relaxed, leaning her head into his chest. Within minutes, he felt her slow, even breath and knew she was out. In the comfort and security of his own bed in his own room, Sydney in his arms, he quickly followed her into sleep.

When Vaughn awakened, the sun still hadn't begun its ascent, and his bedroom was still swathed in darkness. For a moment his heart sped up, and he began to panic, thinking it had all been a dream until he felt her sigh against his chest. Turning his head, he saw her peaceful face and content expression. The sight should soothe him and lull him back to sleep, but in the blackness of four AM, it did just the opposite. For two weeks he lived in either absolute euphoria or a constant state of concern, either overcome with joy to be with her or trying to fix every little thing wrong with her. The whole time he was looking forward to this right here, holding her in his arms and knowing she was safe and happy. But the reality was far more frightening than he expected.

For four months he grieved for her, though perhaps it wasn't grieving in the most therapeutic sense of the word. For four months he drowned himself in alcohol to soak away the memories, or he threw himself into suicidal renegade missions and prayed a stray bullet might send him back to her. For four months everything reminded him of her, of how life would never be again, of how amazing it had been to be hers for such a brief flicker of time. He never got used to it, always woke up thinking he would find her in the kitchen getting a glass of water or sleepily wandering back to bed from the bathroom. But then she never came, and the pain started all over again. Now that she was back he couldn't even begin to understand how he'd survived those four months. Before all of this, the idea of losing her would have scared him and made him more paranoid, a little more protective when he sensed she might be in danger. But then he _did_ lose her, and it was worse than anything he could ever imagine feeling. Now that he knew what he would be losing and what it would do to him, his chest seized in sheer terror.

In all this time without her he made so many bargains to God, so many promises to do whatever was asked of him to bring her back. Then everything would be okay. Everything would be right again if he could just hold her another night. But now she was here, and everything wasn't okay, and nothing was really right. In the midst of his mourning he didn't stop to consider what kind of life she would be coming back to. Her home - her possesions, her memories - burned to the ground, one friend dead and another as good as dead to her, and her world turned completely upside down. The person in his arms was still his Sydney, still the same beautiful, amazing woman that brought him to life years ago, and nothing about this strange new netherworld could make him love her any less. But even if she felt the same way about him, even if she loved him more than anything or anyone and just wanted to be with him, he couldn't promise to make her life okay again. He could love her and pray it was enough, but in the end, he couldn't give her back her friends, couldn't give back everything they took away from her, couldn't go back in time and save her from this fate. Losing her to death nearly killed him; losing her because he wasn't enough _would_ kill him.

The terror quickly became too much, and he physically jerked away, afraid of touching her the wrong way. His breathing sped up, and he rolled over on his back, staring up at the ceiling as he tried to regain some sense of control over his body and his emotions. Finding the task futile, he scrambled out of the bed and ran to the bathroom, reaching the toilet just in time to empty his stomach. He threw up only once, but the tears immediately followed. He hadn't even turned on the light before closing the door and vomiting, so he leaned against the wall and pulled his knees to his chest, sobbing on the bathroom floor in total darkness. He lost all ability to reason, and soon he could barely remember why he was crying, knowing only that he couldn't stop.

The sound of his own cries filled his ears, and he didn't hear the door creaking open. Her presence didn't even register until the light flickered on and his body recoiled in shock. Choking down the sobs still trying to wrench from his throat, he quickly snapped back into his protective role. "Syd?" he rasped, gripping the edge of the tub for support as he tried to stand. "Syd, what are you doing?" he scolded. "You need to be in bed. You shouldn't be moving that much by yourself!" He flushed the toilet and closed the lid, gently grabbing her shoulders and forcing her to sit as he knelt in front of her. "Are you okay?" he asked worriedly, noting her ashen face and laboured breathing.

She nodded, but clutched a hand to her chest as she painfully regained her breath. Still slightly winded, she raised her hand and cupped his cheek, using all the strength within her to keep it there and pull him closer. "What happened?" she asked weakly.

"Nothing," he shook his head. "Nothing, I'm fine. Let's get you back into bed."

He tried to stand, but she stubbornly refused and forced him back down, surprising both of them with the sudden burst of strength. "Talk to me," she begged him.

"This is too much, Syd," he argued. "Come on. You need to lay down."

"No!" she yelled angrily. "No. I'm not going anywhere. Don't do this to me, Vaughn. Don't shut me out. I'm not going to break. Please, stop treating me like I'm completely helpless. I need some kind of control." Fat tears began to roll down her cheeks, but he remained rooted in his position, unable to move. "I have to have some little semblance of control or I'm going to lose my mind, Vaughn. Please don't hide from me. I need you. I need you to be you," she pleaded desperately.

The paleness of her skin, her shaky hands, the tears streaming down her face, the look of terror and heartbreak in her darkened eyes...he couldn't take it anymore. He lost every last shred of resolve to keep her out of his pain and began to sob, abandoning all thoughts of pride or protection as the powerful emotions rolled over him in waves, crushing him to the floor and assailing his mind with memories of the last four months. He sank down the wall and cried into his hands, overcome with grief and fear. He heard her moving, but he couldn't look up. Then he felt her brush against him as her arms went around him. Her hands cupped the back of his head and pulled it to her chest, her lips planted in his hair as he continued to weep.Her heartbeat resounded in his ears, and he nearly choked on another assault of tears. He gasped, suddenly realising his need for air, fighting with the despair cutting of his oxygen.

"Breathe," Sydney whispered, feeling his struggle as his body quaked with the upheaval. "Breathe, Honey. It's okay."

"No," he managed to mutter. "No, you were gone. Forever, Syd. Now you're here, and...you were gone," he repeated, not making much sense even to himself.

"Shh," she tried to hush him, gently swaying back and forth to calm him.

But he couldn't stop now. The words building up inside of him for two weeks burst forth, unable to be contained any longer. "I missed you so much, Syd. I didn't want to live anymore. I wanted to kill myself, but I had to get revenge first. I couldn't just let you die. I knew you would be so disappointed."

"No," she argued softly. "You couldn't disappoint me. I'm proud of you, Michael, and I'm so glad you're still with me."

"I wanted to die," he breathed again. "I wouldn't survive losing you again. I'm scared, Syd. I'm so scared. I'm scared it's going to be too much for you, that you'll leave me, that someone will try to hurt you again and I won't be able to stop it. I'm scared I'm not going to be enough for you. And I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to fight those memories. I don't know how to reconcile all that pain with the happiness I feel when I look at you. I don't know how we move on, Syd. I woke up and thought it had been another dream, and then you were there, and...I'm so scared."

"Oh Vaughn," she breathed, every bit as broken as he. "You'll always be enough," she tried to assure him.

"But what if I'm not?" he asked, his tone bordering on hysterical. He heard her words, but he couldn't seem to process them. "What if I'm not enough? What if I can't save you? I can't lose you again."

"Shh," she tried to hush him again. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. You've already saved me, Michael. You don't have to do anything else but be here with me. That's all I need or want. Stop thinking so much and just be here with me."

"I want to, Syd," he murmured brokenly. "I'm sorry. I just don't know how."

"Stop," she commanded harshly. "Stop apologising." She pulled his head back to her chest, preventing him from saying anything more. A fresh wave of sobs hit him, and he cried into the warm flannel of her shirt. "Let it out," she whispered. "Let it out."

He cried for another ten minutes or so before finally wearing himself out. He pulled away and leaned against the wall in exhaustion. They sat in silence, both breathing raggedly, until Sydney finally spoke.

"Vaughn," she wavered.

His eyes shot open at the near-whimper, and he immediately started, panicking at the strained expression on her face. "What's wrong?" he asked, grabbing her upper arms.

"I don't...I don't think I can sit up like this much longer," she managed, leaning into his touch and trying to offer a small smile.

He snapped back into fix-it mode and scooted closer, coaxing her into an embrace before her muscles revolted entirely. "Relax," he ordered, rubbing her arms soothingly. She obliged, and he held her tightly while she regained her breath. "Can I take you back to bed now?" he asked after a moment.

She raised her arms to allow him to pick her up, looping them around his neck as he lifted her from the floor. "Is that the line you use on all the ladies?" she joked through a yawn.

"Just the ones about to pass out on my bathroom floor," he retorted, kissing her on the temple as he helped her back into bed and laid down next to her. "I love you," he whispered, settling her back in among the pillows and blankets.

"I love you, too," she sighed, snuggling against him. "I love being here with you. You don't have to hide anything from me, Vaughn. You don't have to get up in the middle of the night and cry in the bathroom when you think I'm asleep. If you need to cry, do it right here."

"I'll try," he promised.


	3. Epilogue

Three weeks later Vaughn called Sydney out to the car under the ruse of going grocery shopping again. She teased him and joked around, not even realising for almost twenty minutes that they passed up the store a long time ago. "Where are we going?" she asked in confusion.

"You'll see," he grinned.

She punched him playfully on the shoulder in mock irritation, squirming in her seat as she tried to figure out his surprise. The traffic slowed them down, but by late afternoon they arrived in La Jolla. She ended up falling asleep before they hit San Diego, and he hated to wake her, knowing she still needed rest, but he knew she would kill him if he let her sleep away the rest of their day. Her face lit up when he roused her, her eyes filling with happiness and excitement as she recognised her surroundings. She hopped out of the car with childhlike enthusiasm, giggling in delight as she kicked off her shoes.

The fading sun cast a golden glow on her skin, almost giving her the illusion of being the healthy, vibrant Sydney of before. Her face was still drawn and pallid, her eyes a little too dark and sunken, but a smile graced her features and restored life to her otherwise sickly appearance. If he thought for too long and stared closely, he could see phantom tears, invisible reminders of the torrent of tears shed over the last three weeks. Right now she radiated only joy and peace, but time and betrayal made their mark, etching her skin with remnants of the past. Sometimes he just wanted to forget it all, but every time he looked at her he remembered the pain they both endured for a cause that was not their own. This life had never been their cross to bear, but they wore the scars anyway. Some scars were all too literal, haunting his sleep and taunting him with how close he came to losing her. He too bore macabre mementos of close calls and brushes with danger, and these were the ones that reduced Sydney to tears when she traced her fingers over his arms and chest. But they'd both been in this business long enough to know scars came with the territory, and once they grew accustomed to seeing each injury on each other's skin, the wounds started to blend in and fade away to memory. It was the scars beneath the skin, beneath healed wounds and mended bones, lurking in the shadows of the deepest pits of their souls, that really and truly scared him, and probably her as well. He diligently obeyed every doctor's order to aide her recovery, tended to her injuries and hovered near when she coughed and lost her breath, made sure she ate and drank enough. He could manage her physical health just fine for the most part, and after her first few days at home with him, he stopped panicking if he left her alone in a room for more than five minutes. She wasn't well by any stretch of the word, but she was getting there, and he knew how to help.

But since they arrived home she started sleeping a little less, no longer needing full days in bed. She still slept far more than she used to and far more than he did, taking several naps throughout the day and falling asleep before nine every night, but every day she spent a little more time awake. And her sleep wasn't the deep unconsciousness of before. In Italy, London, and New York her body was so worn down, so abused and exhausted that her sleep was deep and dreamless. Now he could rouse her with a gentle shake or quiet voice. Now she woke in the middle of the night screaming, sweating, and sobbing. Those moments were the darkest of his life. All he could do was hold her while she exorcised the grief stored up inside, praying for God to grant her a little mercy and just let her fall asleep again so she could escape the torture of her mind. He could only wrap his arms around her and promise to keep her safe. He couldn't erase the pain, couldn't give her back her life, couldn't shake the sorrow from her heart. So he hugged her close to his body and whispered in her ear, terrified this time might be the one to break her. Every time the tears slowed and gave way to even breath he nearly trembled with relief.

Since they arrived home she started moving around, helping him add a few of her own touches to the apartment to make it feel like home. When she felt up to it they went shopping, strolling through the mall and picking out new clothes, new shoes, new lamps, new music - a new life, though neither said the words. Sometimes she allowed herself to get caught up in the shopping spirit, but every time they bought something she grew sad and asked to go home. He didn't push her, and they pretended her loss of enthusiasm was purely physical fatigue. But he knew better. He saw the tears that pricked her eyes every time they drove past the exit for her old apartment, saw her gazing around the still unfamiliar apartment trying to find her bearings, saw her longing expression when she looked at picture frames in stores or on his shelves. Everything was gone, and he didn't know how to help her carve a place in this world she didn't recognise. Because it wasn't even the physical differences that really hurt. It wasn't the clothes two sizes smaller than before, the empty picture frames at the store, or even the books that still smelled new and felt sticky from the price tag at Borders. All of these things stung, but he knew her well enough to know material objects scored low on her list of priorities. It was the strange silence she encountered without Will and Francie's voices. It was the sallow hue of the whole world, forever changed by the absence of her friends who once brought so much light. It was all the faces in the mall and at the park and on the sidewalks that didn't belong to those she loved, that didn't tease or smile or laugh with her. It was the perpetual chill that seemed to pervade her being; she shivered even in the bright California sunshine, to the point that he brought his jacket everywhere they went to cover her up when her hands turned icy. His healthy bank account and wise investments covered every_thing_ she could desire, but his plastic credit cards couldn't purchase every_one_ she needed back.

This life and this job would never take another minute or another smile away from them again. He bequeathed his quest for vengeance the day after she came home, leaving Sydney at home with Jack while he drove purposefully to the JTF and turned in his resignation, turning sharply on his heel the moment the paper fluttered onto Kendall's desk and never looking back. He left everything at his workstation to those that would assume the duties he abandoned, no longer wanting any ties to the CIA. Jack, Weiss, and Dixon had more than enough personal investment in pursuing the people that hurt Sydney, and they could use their own pain and passion to persevere until every last enemy fell. Sydney didn't want or need Vaughn in the field trying to bring her justice, so within 24 hours he decided on a change of career. She was surprised when he returned without a badge and a pass into the JTF, but as soon as Jack left them alone she cried through her laughter and thanked him for saving her from that fear and anxiety. A few hours later he called Jack, at her request, and asked if he would bring her a resignation form the next time he came to visit. Within three days of returning home, they were both blissfully unemployed. He hadn't decided what to do just yet, but for right now Sydney still needed him at home, so he didn't give it too much thought.

Lowering himself to the pebbly sand, he rested his elbows on his knees and watched her tread carefully to the point where the beach met the waves. He heard a tiny shriek as the cold water splashed her feet, but it was immediately followed up with a delighted laugh that brought a giant smile to his face. She didn't seem to notice his scrutiny, but he quickly found he liked it that way. He suddenly wished he brought a camera, wanting to capture the brilliant image of her silhouette against the waning light of day and the backdrop of the vast Pacific framing her figure. He silently vowed to himself not to take these moments for granted again, and made a mental note to keep his camera with him from now on.

Sydney continued voyaging along the edge of the water, still completely oblivious to the eyes completely captivated by her seemingly carefree appearance. In the midst of long nights filled with horrid nightmares, the days that seemed like an uphill battle every step of the way, and the nearly incapacitating despair, he'd seen in her a pure and quiet joy over these last three weeks. Sometimes he looked into the mirror, stunned to see the same expression in his own eyes. He couldn't explain or rationalise the sense of peace surrounding him, but he knew she felt it too. Maybe losing everything set them both free to find pleasure from the smallest of life's details. Sometimes rolling over in the middle of the night to see her hair splayed across his pillow filled him with more happiness than he could ever remember feeling. He knew without a doubt that he loved the Sydney Bristow of before with all of his heart and would have married her in an instant, but he'd fallen even more in love with the person he shared his bed with now. Just the simple fact that she could walk on the beach, content to be with him and with the beauty of a fading day, amazed him in every way. She told him one night about every single thing they did to her - beatings, starvation, sensory deprivation, druggings, electroshock - and his mind couldn't even comprehend that she was still alive. Most people, even highly trained agents, wouldn't survive that kind of torture. Five weeks after her miraculous rescue, she was already bewildering everyone with her resilience. She wasn't ready for physical intimacy yet, but he felt quite certain she would be thrilled when the time came. After a few awkward experiences while he helped her change, and then again when he helped her shower, she forgot her reservations about being touched and seen. At first he was afraid his reaction to her changed body would hurt her and set their progress back, but he found that his feelings blinded him to everything except the rapture of being with her again.

Somehow, the last five weeks had been the best of his life. He would do anything to take away her pain, but he lived for the smiles she dazzled him with. Sometimes, even after a long, hard day, she sighed in contentment and burrowed her head into his chest while they laid on the couch watching a movie. Sometimes, even when he thought her grief might swallow her whole, she found some reason to laugh. But perhaps most of all, she gave herself to him, completely and perfectly. He did the same for her.

"Vaughn!" she yelled, waving her hand urgently. "Come down here!"

He smiled and rose, leaving his burdens in the sand as he joined her. "Need something?" he asked sweetly.

"Yeah. You," she answered, taking his hand. "We're supposed to watch the sunset.And we have to do it from over there." She pointed to a rocky area not far away.

"Really?" he raised an eyebrow. "I didn't realise there were specific guidelines to this. I guess I've been doing it wrong all this time."

Sydney rolled her eyes and tugged ono his hand, leading him to the rocks. He sat down first and pulled her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on the top of her head. Neither said a word until the beach was almost dark and Sydney began to shiver. He gently pushed on her hips to lower her back to the sand, following close behind without ever breaking contact. "Just a few more minutes," she whispered.

He couldn't argue with her plea, so he held her hand and watched her gaze out over the waves.

"What are you looking at?" she asked a moment later, realising that he was watching her and not the ocean.

"You. You're beautiful," he answered simply.

"Right," she scoffed. "I look like a refugee."

In all honesty, he couldn't argue with her reasoning. She_ was_ still too thin, the weight-gaining process frustratingly slow to both of them, and it disturbed him more than he'd like to admit. He was anxious to get her out in the sun more so she could regain some colour to her wan features, and moving still wasn't entirely pain-free yet. But she looked like an angel to him. A wounded, stitched-up angel, but an angel nonetheless. The very _idea_ of her was beautiful in a way he couldn't explain. "You're gorgeous, Sydney," he refuted seriously. "Just over five months ago I spread your ashes at sea. Seeing you here, alive and happy...you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"Vaughn," she sniffed tearfully.

"It's the truth."

She stepped closer and wrapped her arms around him, pressing tightly to his chest. "I love you so much. Thank you for finding me," she whispered.

He thought for a moment, unsure of what to say to that. She didn't owe him anything, least of all her thanks. She should never have been lost in the first place. He may have saved her from that cell, but she saved him from a darker fate. And then he knew his answer. "Thank you for finding _me_."


End file.
